


... she's home.

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Series: Homecoming [9]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, Romance, Smut, coming home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 01:00:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The ninth time it happens she's home for good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	... she's home.

The ninth time, she’s home.

Hilariously though, the day she flies in, he is not. Will and Henry pick her up at the airport, drop her off at her house. She’s strangely thankful because she’s jetlagged and has an entire house to unpack. She honestly feels better after she’s had those days to organize. It does feel different, she thinks, her home coming together slowly. The relaxed feeling from London has carried over to this move and she feels like it’s easier to breath, being back now.

A week later – the longest and shortest week of her life – Hotch shows up on her doorstep, still carrying his go-bag. His grin is wide and bright and it makes her laugh, happiness flooding her veins and that trace of arousal that’s been humming in her blood since she got his text that they were on their way. He drops his bag just inside the door and gets his arm around her, taking her mouth. She groans and her mouth opens at the first touch of his tongue.

“Welcome home,” she pants, loosening her fingers so she can sift them through the short hairs at the back of his head.

“Same to you,” he murmurs against her mouth. Her breath catches as he kisses her again, slides his broad palms up and down her back. It sets her body shaking, trembling in excitement and arousal. He gives a low laugh against her mouth that makes her whine. God, she wants him and she can feel how much he wants her. It’s in the bulge of his pants, of course, but also in the tension of his body, the way his fingers dig into her skin.

“Slow,” he urges.

“Later,” she argues. She wants to explore him too, really she does. She wants to take it so painfully slow that neither of them can forget that they now have all the time to savour each other. But she’s also desperate, from the months apart and the week of anticipation. She wants him hard and fast and deep.

When his eyes harden in hot determination she thinks she’s won. He doesn’t seem to waste time, yanks her sweater over her head. Static makes the air crackle as he bares her torso and she gasps as his cold hands stroke over her soft skin. He spans her back – it’s a favourite feeling for both of them, how lithe and small it makes her feel – and slides a few fingers under her bra. He’s got the clasp open a few seconds later and his hands follow the straps down her arms until the garment falls to the floor.

Her arms slip around his neck again and she tilts her head back for a kiss. He obliges her, plunders her mouth. His fingers are confident as they dance over her stomach, sliding beneath her yoga pants. He doesn’t hesitate to shove them over her hips and she thrills at the desperation she feels in him. He backs her out of her pants, out of her panties and hoists her onto the counter. She hisses, but he pays her no mind, too busy attaching his mouth to her breasts, his fingers play over her thighs.

“Is this what you want?” he says, voice low. His mouth trails along her skin and he takes her other breast in his mouth. Her back arches, her hips lifting. She can feel his fingers, so very close to her center. She moans, arches and then his fingers are there

“No,” she whimpers, but he’s not listening. Instead, he kisses her. She expresses her displeasure with the aggressive nip of her teeth, the violent parry of her tongue. He holds her head still, fights back, and gets his fingers between her thighs. Her breath hitches as he presses, gives her some of the pressure and friction she’s craving.

“Aaron.”

He shushes her. “Like this.”

“No.”

Except her hips arch, rock as his fingers slide through her slick heat. She’s soaked, not that either of them are particularly surprised. “Like this first.”

She wants to argue, he can see it in her face, but he slides his fingers along her slick folds and also knows he’s got her. He circles her entrance gently, and hears the moan catch in her throat.

“God, Emily. So wet for me.”

She whimpers because of the words and the way his fingers brush up against her clit. He follows the same path again, down and around her entrance then back up. Her hands are trying to clench against the smooth surface of her counter to no avail. There’s nothing for her to grasp, so her hands come back to his neck, dig into his skin. He slides two fingers into her without issue, and his thumb presses against her clit.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he tells her, pushing in against her, twisting his wrist until he can find the spot inside her that has her hips thrusting against the movements of his hand. “Oh, look at you.”

She can’t keep her eyes open. The pleasure threads through her system, throbs with every beat of her pulse as he sends her higher and higher. “Yes,” she manages. “Aaron!”

He pushes her through her peak, keeps his fingers moving and doesn’t give her time to catch her breath. She scrabbles for purchase, scrabbles for some sort of stability that he is not giving her. He will not give her because he wants to see the look on her face, wants to see the bliss wash over her. He wants to see her body tense and bend with the pleasure that floods through her.

“Oh my God, Aaron. Shut up.”

Except he doesn’t, of course, because he knows it’s driving her higher and sure enough, a moment later her thighs start to shake.

“There you are,” he whispers, biting against her earlobe.

She gets her fingers around his wrist and yanks his hand from between her thighs. She can’t get her body to breathe and reaches for him, gets her arms around his neck. He lets her pull him in tight, gives not a care to her sticky thighs against his suit pants. He ghosts his fingers down her back, gets his palm against the back of her head and holds her there until the shaking stops.

When it does, he lifts, braces her against him even though he knows he shouldn’t. He’ll be lucky not to feel this at all in the morning, and doing something as stupid as this is certainly going to have his back screaming. But it’s Emily, and having her back stateside, for good, is worth a little bit of back pain.

“Emily,” he breathes as he settles her against her bed. “Emily.”

“Aaron.” And everything he’s feeling, that overwhelming relief, the devastating love that blazes through him, is echoed in her voice. It’s another one of those situations where they don’t need words, where the way her fingers make slow work of his dress shirt and then his belt and pants speaks both to her desperation and their yearning to savour.

He helps her strip him of his layers, of his armour, until there’s nothing between them. Then she shuffles her way up the bed and leans back into the pillows. He follows, of course he does, starting at her knee and trailing his mouth up her body, over her hip, between her breasts and up her neck until he can get to her mouth. She rocks up against him, takes control of his mouth and their kiss. But when she goes to flip him, he holds her fast.

He does reward her, however, because he pins her hips and slides into her. They both groan as he slips in, as her body wraps around his.

“Yes,” she hisses. “Oh, Aaron.”

“Emily,” he breathes into her neck, gets his tongue there to distract himself from the way she feels. “You feel amazing.”

She just moans and tilts her hips into the push of his. Once he’s there, they both pause, both absorb the moment. She cups her hands around his cheeks, makes him look at her. Her eyes are dark, still a bit glazed from two consecutive climaxes, but fathomless.

“I love you,” she tells him. “I really, really love you.”

He kisses her, can’t not. He presses into her mouth, pries her lips open with his tongue and slides his hands beneath her shoulders. Her hands come up around his hips as he kisses her senseless.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he breathes against her mouth. He slides out, then back in. “God, I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you’re home.”

“Yes,” she moans, and it’s both an answer and an exclamation. “So good.”

He chuckles against her neck, sliding out as slow as he can stand before he pushes back in again. It’s a torturous speed for both of them, requires them both to feel each and ever push, each inch of pressure and pleasure. The slow build is torture and delight. She’s so warm and tight around him and she wraps herself even closer, pulls him as tight as she can get him. It serves to push right against her clit and pushes out a gasping whimper. He does it again, pushes with the same strength, just to hear it again.

“Come on, Emily,” he urges. “One more time, I know you can do it.”

Because he’s done it to her before. And he does it again, can feel it in the way her body flutters around his, the way her thighs start to shake again. When she goes, she takes him with him, groaning into her neck and trying not to bite a mark into her shoulder. The pleasure is overwhelming and while he just barely clings to consciousness, there’s a moment where he’s not sure she’s with him.

“Shit,” she says. “That is so much better at home.”

He laughs as he tries to make his muscles work, as he fights against the way his body just wants to sag against hers. Thing is though, Emily’s having none of it and her legs stay wrapped tight around his hips, her arms holding close around his neck as she breathes into the curve of his shoulder.

A moment later, she lets out bright laughter. “I’m home.”

His smile is wider than he can remember as she lets him lift his head to get a look at her. Her fingers press gently into his dimples, trace over his cheekbones.

“You are,” he murmurs, and has to kiss her again. He can do that now, whenever he’s with her, whenever he wants. “I never thought we’d get here.”

She laughs again. “I didn’t either.”

“No?”

She shakes her head. “I wasn’t happy here. I didn’t have you, and Doyle was still stalking my every move from beyond the grave… And Interpol. _Interpol_ , Aaron, and not just… I was running an office. I wasn’t happy. I didn’t think I could ever come back again.”

“But you’re here.”

“I am,” she agrees. “And I’m happy. You’re a big part of that. I love you.”

He kisses her again – he can’t get over the fact that he gets to do that now, that she’s not getting on a plane in a couple of days where he won’t see her for a few months, and that she _loves_ him – and then again.

“I love you, too,” he tells her. “Welcome home.”

 


End file.
